The shot had come out of nowhere, throwing the Fang-class transport aside like a tidal wave might a sailboat, before it hurled to the ground and shattered against the pines.
Song only remembered the alarms screaming in her ears, the flashing lights across the cockpit dashboard, and the sound of rending timber and metal. It was a terrible feeling. As if these would be the last moments of her miserable life. But it wasn’t. Instead, once the ship had finished rolling through the trees and snow, she found that she was still in one piece. Alive.
As she unbuckled out of the pilot’s seat and stumbled into the ship’s cabin, her eyes searched desperately around the wreckage. Smoke filled her vision. Her head was throbbing, and blood trickled down the side of her neck. This couldn’t be happening. Where was she? No, more importantly, where was Kanan?
She called his name, but her throat was dry and the ringing in her ears wouldn’t go away. It was impossibly hard to see, and before long, Song was stumbling out into the open, hands plunging into the snow. She coughed, tasting the crisp, fresh mountain air that was common on Krownest. “Kanan?” she mumbled again, ashamed by how weak her voice sounded.
Song looked up to the frozen sky. Grey smoke was billowing out from the wreck. It was only a matter of time before the people who shot them down would arrive and finish the job. Her father, Ghent, had said these rebels were a troublesome thorn in his side, but she hadn’t expected them to be this dangerous. Of course, they were not ordinary marauders or bandits. These rebels were her own people, outcasts from the Wren clan.
They were Mandalorians.
She had to find Kanan. They had to leave now.
@llamallove